


dream of some epiphany

by stepofthewind



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Gen, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25720915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepofthewind/pseuds/stepofthewind
Summary: She doesn’t remember how it started. Whoever drew their weapon first, whoever cast the initial spell, whoever did it. No, she’s not sure. The blur of combat is exactly that, the tears that make her vision swim for clearer sight. Really, though, is she ever sure ofanything?The thought of that elicits a bitter laugh from Saccharina. You would think it’d scare her.(A thing Saccharina says to Theobald when she's scared.)
Relationships: Saccharina Frostwhip & Theobald Gumbar
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	dream of some epiphany

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadowfelldmv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowfelldmv/gifts).



> is 2k too lengthy for a mini fic? who knows? not me.
> 
> this fic is for caroline ([@voxphantasma](https://twitter.com/voxphantasma)), who asked for something about theo and rina with a prompt in mind. ( **18.** things you said when you were scared.) i love her so much and i thank her kindly for helping me figure out how to write something for my favorite characters before the finale of a crown of candy. go follow her, if you aren't doing so already! the title of this comes from the song "epiphany" by taylor swift.
> 
> my twitter is [sofiabicicleta](https://twitter.com/sofiabicicleta) and my tumblr is [behercowboy](https://behercowboy.tumblr.com), if you'd like to chat.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

After Amethar felled Lord Calroy Cruller — his former right hand, Theobald had told her through a Message, and his old friend — and his body was checked to make sure the clean cleave through his chest was worth the blood caked on Payment Day, she thought it was over. They’d count their losses, sure, but the celebration of victory afterwards would be in their honor. Because of the Candians now dead on the battlefield, the legacy of their nation and all of Calorum would live to see another day.

The woman would say name after name if she had to, dedicating this point in time, soon to be a moment of history in thick tomes, to the people that sacrificed their lives for this faithless cause. She would do so until she no longer had the voice to carry on. If it meant that the magic stayed with her always, then it was the least she could do.

But no. War begets war. There just had to be secrets.

She doesn’t remember how it started. Whoever drew their weapon first, whoever cast the initial spell, whoever did it. No, she’s not sure. The blur of combat is exactly that, the tears that make her vision swim for clearer sight. Really, though, is she ever sure of _anything?_ The thought of that elicits a bitter laugh from Saccharina. You would think it’d scare her. It should, the way it does the rest of her crew. Gooey bows her head, single eye downcast on the bloodied ground. Jon Bon clears his throat, the weight of his axe heavy as he shifts it from hand to hand. Even Swiftie makes a noise of reluctant defeat. It’s really broken, the kind that cracks like true gingerbread gone stale. They can’t stand to see their queen in this state.

 _Queen._ She will never get called that again.

She is not scared now. That will come later.

What she _does_ remember is too violent for her to revisit. In the future, when she’s miles away from Castle Candy again, the way she has been since birth, she’ll have to remind herself to stop before the memory starts up in her brain again. There was such a concoction of attacks and spells that she still isn’t sure where the physicality started and the mysticality ended. All of it was trained on a sole person, the one meant to bear it the most, but of course, he buckled under it. Anybody that isn’t immortal inevitably would.

There’s a shape in the sugargrass where Theobald lies dead. Battlepop isn’t anywhere near him, tossed aside the second the Rocks had decided it was time for a final fight. This had never been about killing anyone to him. It was always about defending someone. Swirlwarden is closer to him than it’s ever been. Enarmes looped tight around his gauntlet, bound to him like honor, the remains of his shield rests still atop his limp arm. The lollipop’s been split perfectly into halves. It’s obvious by the jagged edges jutting out and protruding where each part used to connect.

Maybe Amethar hadn’t meant to deal the killing blow, but maybe he had.

Maybe Theobald hadn’t been the one to kill Jet, _but maybe he had._

Something about the scene seems all too coincidental.

The light of day dances off Payment Day and makes the blood of both friends and enemies bright. There’s a particular power to it that’s too terrifying to name. Saccharina doesn’t know it. Theobald might. Amethar’s hit on him was a critical one, and for killers of his family, that means an immediate death. It wasn’t intentional. For as much of a fighter as the king is, the knight knows him well enough in spite of his strange resentment for him. He would never harm anyone if it meant forgetting a friendship ever existed. All personal, not political, on purpose.

Really, it might’ve been that Theobald had no more strength to go on. After all, he was of age. They could go on record and say he gave out.

When the blade sang off his armor, from it echoed a sweet melody that left Amethar reeling in shock. His face contorted in horror as the Suckershield broke in two and the King’s Sword found its home in Theobald’s heart instead.

That number should have been Cal’s. Not Theo’s.

Again, though, Saccharina doesn’t know a thing. All she saw was Theobald crumple and Amethar retreat to his family, which included everyone save for her, in reaction. Of course he would flee once someone wrongly hit the dirt. Thus, an unspoken truce is called as they all stare at his body. It is earning its name as a corpse with every second wasted. Varying degrees of dismay grow to expression. The world slows to a stop.

But Saccharina moves. After the threatening tears, after the morbid laugh, the Winterscoop falls from her hand, hits the ground with a wisp of vanilla curling off its tip, and she _moves._

She sprints to him, collapsing at his side. Shakily, her small hands close over his wound that flows freely, as if stopping it now will bring him back to life. That’s not the point. Her palms ignite with the bold flame of a Fire Bolt briefly and she cauterizes it. She’s preventing problems now from being problems later. Saccharina is, if anything, forthright as a planner.

Or so she thinks. What she doesn’t anticipate until she’s doing it is needing a gem.

_Fuck._

Saccharina tries to steady her now slick hands as she feels around for something, _anything_ on her person worthy of price, but the sight of Theobald’s blood staining her knuckles makes them tremble harder. It’s taking her too long. _She needs a gem._ She has none.

She starts seeking out people in her panic, a silent plea with her eyes and through her sobs, wordlessly wondering if any of them have what she’s searching for. She stares out at her friends, who have her back in life and death. Already, she knows they have nothing. Swiftie’s the best option, but they came empty-handed in terms of anything precious. Gooey seems like she’s willing to rip her other eye out in order to stave off Saccharina’s tears. She shakes her head hard with denial instead. Not today. After everything they’ve sacrificed? Never again.

There’s not a second that she considers looking in the direction of the Rocks. Her father tries to fight the guilt. _Amethar_ certainly tries.

“Saccharina —” he starts, stepping forth from where he stands at a far distance from her.

He doesn’t get the privilege to finish. A shadow sweeps the whole area, lengthy and dauntingly intimidating at its height. Sensing her drastic dip in emotion like a dog does a human, Cinnamon lands before the King, the Queen, and the Princess, blocking them from approaching further. He surprisingly holds his tongue, having yet to introduce the spice-filled fire in his lungs to the fold.

It’s due to Saccharina that they aren’t dead yet.

She meant what she said about looking after the dragon. The events at Port Syrup weren’t something she wanted, yet she took full responsibility for her failure there. Cinnamon is under her control now. It takes all the restraint she has to will him into only being a barrier and not a wreaker of cruel havoc. She’s not heartless. The Rocks don’t deserve to be dead. They do, however, deserve to be gone. There’s a difference evident in that wording.

Unsure of what else she can do, Saccharina takes Theobald into her arms as a last resort. She lets her hand rest on his helmet. His own blood streaks her handprint across it as she strokes the side of it delicately. The knight’s eyes, thankfully, fluttered shut in his final moments. Mouth not drawing breath, nose no longer releasing soft air, stomach not lifting with an inhale, there are so many signs that he is truly gone.

“Please don’t leave me, Theobald,” she whispers, stifling a sob that bubbles up in her and quivers her lip.

Her words are met with nothing.

This time, her cries come out real, announced with no discretion. She thinks she hears Cinnamon whimper at the sound of it, restless where he towers when he isn’t causing destruction to satisfy her. It wouldn’t do that, anyway. That was the last thing it’d be, in the wake of Theobald’s absence. Neither of them would’ve wanted his death to be in vain. Eventually, she lowers her forehead down to meet the bridge of his, berating herself for doing so once she feels how cold it is already. Still, she refuses to let him go.

“Please, Theo. _Please.”_

She’s so sincere.

_“You're my family now. You can’t leave family.”_

For the first time in a long time, Saccharina is so scared.

The Crown of Candy tilts on her head. The shift of its weight onto her brow startles her into clarity. Suddenly, she’s ripping it from her head, a few hairs of pink, brown, and white falling away. She stares at its many gems, letting each and every one of them catch the sun’s rays, and the emotion that courses through her seizes her as she starts to wrench its centermost jewel out with a hand. The one she goes for is a faint violet, similar to the shade of an amethyst and large enough that it has to be valuable. Either that, or it’s useless, in the same way that she is.

Clutching the precious stone in one hand and hovering her other over Theobald’s chest, Saccharina brings to the clear sky roiling clouds of cherry red, which peal with thunder immediately. Eyes closed before, they fly open as a bolt of lightning, golden instead of a true blue, reaches down to her on the ground. An end of it catches her empty hand and another end burns clear through the gem. Theobald’s armor sizzles as she slams her hand into his breastplate, a perfect conductor, his body taking to the electricity like it’s a defibrillation. It must be a gorgeous sight, since there are awestruck noises all around her.

They belong to the witnesses of a miraculous spectacle.

After this, all of Calorum will hail her as Healer of the Realm.

She won’t care. Her decision to do this was done in a heartbeat.

Theobald gasps to life beneath her hold. He lifts a little before lowering back onto the ground. Staring out into the world in shock, he heaves to take in breath like it’s something he steals. When the brief storm settles and she can see clearly again, the sparks having fled from her eyelids, she looks down at him. The audible sigh of relief that leaves her gets his attention.

“Saccharina — ?”

The woman hurls her arms around him before he can continue. She holds Theobald tight, the strength of the way she hugs him enough to compensate for the both of them. The fact that he isn’t reciprocating is felt. It’s only because he’s so stunned to be alive, revivified by the only person that not only had the power to do so but the will as well, that he doesn’t bring his own arms around her initially. It takes him a good minute to remember he can. His muscle memory fights. It wins out eventually. As her head slots itself into the crook of his neck, the knight breathes out, chin nestling in her hair.

“Don’t ever die for me like that again.” Saccharina threatens him with care. _You’re family, after all._

“I can’t swear anything of the sort.” Theobald laughs, and it hurts his sides a little. _I’ll try my hardest, though,_ Rina.

They won’t leave until later, long after the war’s finally decreed to be over. It’s with all the fanfare that one would expect. The both of them come out of each other’s embrace hesitantly. With that, none of the newcomers stick around once sentiment makes the occasion feel fake. Saccharina and her marauders clamber onto Cinnamon’s back, and Theobald lets the dragon take his arms into his claws. They take flight into the Great Stone Candy Mountains and celebrate something of worth there. All family is welcome, and even more so, all magic. That is all it takes.

For the first time in a long time, Saccharina _and_ Theobald feel relief wash over them. They are home.

**Author's Note:**

> fuck brennan and his home rule, by the way. you call this the consequence season? saccharina can cast revivify whenever the hell she wants. even if she doesn't canonically have the correct spellcasting level for it.
> 
> anyway, i'm now writing mini fics based on twitter prompts. [feel free to request something.](https://twitter.com/sofiabicicleta/status/1290699357512237056) i can't make any promises, though.


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